


A Cut Above the Rest

by SmolDargon



Series: Adventures in Anatomy [10]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Horseback Riding, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, brief anatomical discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:14:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29984085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmolDargon/pseuds/SmolDargon
Summary: The human has a minor crisis, but then they go riding!
Series: Adventures in Anatomy [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205429
Kudos: 1





	A Cut Above the Rest

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Blood, broken glass, minor injury.

He had been excited to visit the human at her barn. Horses still scared him, with their size and strength, but the human had promised to teach him how to handle them today. She hoped it would make him less nervous around them. He listened, trying to figure out where she had gone. Suddenly, he heard a thump, the sound of breaking glass, and a sharp cry of pain from the direction of the storage room. He recognized the human's voice, and especially the string of curses that followed. He barged into the storage area and was greeted by the sight of a broken glass cabinet door (why did she even have those in a barn?) and the human on the ground, clutching her arm and bleeding profusely.

"Oh, good, you're here. I need a favor. Run into the work shed out back and bring me the superglue. Please."

He balked.

"I--SUPERGLUE?"

She gave him a sharp look, carefully extricating herself from the mess of broken glass.

"Not the time, Pap. The glue, please."

He ran to collect it. Certainly she didn't intend to try and fix that glass panel? The way she requested it suggested she needed it for something important. When he returned, she had removed her hoodie and made her way to the wash stall, and was quickly but carefully rinsing her wound, picking out a few stray bits of glass. She asked him to bring her a clean towel and some of the self-adhesive bandage material from the storage room as well, reminding him to be careful of the glass.

It looked awful in the storage room. Her blood stained the floor, as well as some of the broken glass still in the cabinet door. It seemed like she had lost her balance and fallen into the cabinet, thrusting her elbow through it. The glass hadn't so much shattered as it had broken into large shards. It was odd, but probably a good thing; smaller pieces would be much harder to remove from a wound. He hurriedly collected the cleanest towel he could find and the bandages. He remembered them distinctly, with their bright colors and strange textures.

By the time he got back, she had finished picking the glass from her cuts. He held out the items, and she took the towel from him to dry the arm. She was still bleeding fairly badly. There were two large, deep gashes in the backside of her arm. They looked complicated; he doubted his healing ability would be enough to repair them.

"Alright, you're gonna have to help me with this one. I'm gonna pinch the edges together, and I want you to glue 'em shut."

"I'M SORRY, _WHAT_?!"

"Try to keep the glue on the good skin on the edges. Don't put it in the damaged areas. Got it?"

He shifted anxiously, but decided to trust her this time. She had clearly dealt with this sort of thing before, and she knew how her body worked. He carefully applied the glue to the undamaged skin around the edges of her cuts, then watched as she pinched them together, effectively sealing the wound off. They had to stop a couple of times to rinse the still-flowing blood and dry the area again, but after a tense couple of minutes, they had sealed the cuts.

"Perfect. Now we can wrap them up to keep debris from working its way in. Can you do that? It's an awkward spot, and I doubt I could manage it with one arm."

He nodded, wrapping the wounds carefully. She instructed him to put some pressure on them in the wrapping, the better to encourage the bleeding to stop.

"Much better. Thanks. Glad you showed up when you did. Wanna help me clean up?"

"THAT, I CAN DO. BUT, HUMAN.... SUPERGLUE? WHY?"

She just shrugged.

"They used it to patch up soldiers who got hurt out fighting. It's not perfect, but for such a relatively shallow set of cuts, it will suffice. The bandages will put pressure on the wound, as well as keeping dirt out of the wounds."

She had rinsed the blood from the wash stall, using the towel to wipe up the drops between it and the storage room. Papyrus found a broom and began carefully collecting the broken glass. She came behind and wiped up the rest of the blood from the floor. Finally, he carefully removed all the items from the cabinet, shaking off the excess glass, while she used the cleanest part of the towel to sweep the remaining bits into the trash. In a relatively short time, all was once again well in the storage room, minus the broken cabinet door. Papyrus insisted on removing it and finishing the job of pulling the glass out of it. He could probably fix a new pane into it, but only if he was unable to convince her to replace it with a regular wooden door.

"It looks great in here. Thanks. Now, do you still have the energy for that lesson?"

He cast a worried look in her direction, eyeing her bandaged arm.

"YOU STILL WANT TO CONTINUE? YOU'RE INJURED."

"Hey, that concussion didn't stop me, did it? If I start feeling bad, I'll stop, alright?"

There really was no changing her mind. The phrase "stubborn as a mule" sprung to mind, followed by an idle wondering if mules really were all that stubborn.

In the end, he was glad they continued. Once he learned the hows and whys of her method of horsemanship, it made horses seem less intimidating. They were more like very large toddlers than the vicious hellbeasts he had considered them before. He kept a careful eye on the human's arm the whole time, but she seemed perfectly fine. He decided that he would try to heal it a little at the end. He didn't think it would do much, given how large her soul was and thus, how much healing energy she would need to mend, but he would try.

"You're a natural, Paps! He really seems to have taken a shine to ya."

She gestured at the one he was leading, a stunning black behemoth of a horse. He was seemingly all muscle, and it struck him that this animal could probably single-handedly pull a semi out of a ditch. He was massive; the top of Papyrus's head didn't even clear the horse's shoulder. The human looked positively diminutive by comparison, and he wondered what on earth had possessed her to acquire such a huge beast. Despite this, he seemed quite gentle, taking great care with where he placed his feet, as if he knew he was being handled by a novice, and wanted to help. Once, he'd set his massive hoof down on the skeleton's foot, but before he put his full weight on it and almost before Papyrus registered the pressure, he'd simply lifted his foot off and placed it delicately on the ground instead. Truly, this horse was a testament to her horse-handling skill, and to the docile nature of the creatures.

"HE SEEMS POLITE ENOUGH. WHY IS HE SO MUCH BIGGER THAN YOUR OTHER ONE?"

"He's a Clydesdale, they're just big to begin with. They were bred for their stature and temperament. Strunmah there just so happens to have gotten larger than the breed standard. He's twenty hands."

He shot her a confused look, so she continued, "Hands are the unit of measurement for horses. Before we had centimeters and inches, we had feet and hands."

To demonstrate, she squatted next to one of the horse's front legs, placing her hand so that the pinky touched the ground and the thumb faced up with her palm flat against the horse. She placed her other hand in similar fashion, resting the thumb against the side of her first hand. She lifted the first hand, placing it on top of the second hand, then repeated, effectively using the width of her knuckles as a measuring stick, counting hands up the horse's side. Certainly enough, she counted twenty hands at the peak of his shoulder.

"Most people don't actually use their hands to measure, since people these days are larger, with bigger hands. It's standardized now so that one hand is equal to four inches. So a big guy like Strunmah is twenty hands, or six and a half feet.

"Now, Whiskey is just a smaller breed. She's some kind of Arabian-Warmblood mix. They're not bred for drafting like Clydesdales, so they don't need to be as big. Rather, they're bred for speed and performance. She's only seventeen hands, or five and a half feet. She's taller than a lot of light horses, but not nearly so massive as drafts. She's also not as muscle-bound, which means she lacks the pulling and lifting power of a draft. The larger horses sacrificed speed for power."

As if on cue, the mare stuck her head into the barn from her run. It seemed she knew she was being talked about. In contrast to Strunmah, Whiskey was shorter, though she was still taller than the human. She was lean, but well-defined, like a runner. Her coat, mane, and tail were all the same shade of copper, and she had a white sock on her off hind foot. She was certainly a different horse; she wouldn't let anyone close to her without the human around, and stars help you if you didn't ask the human's permission to pet her. Apparently, this was a horse known to buck and kick at people during protests. It was one of many reasons the human had never been apprehended for her part in things. However, she had developed a soft spot for the human's favorite skeleton, and would willingly approach him for attention.

"I think you're about ready to mount up, Paps. Sound good?"

He balked. He wasn't prepared to actually sit on top of this massive gelding. But some reassurance from both the human and her horse convinced him that, at the very least, he was in good hands. He led Strunmah to the mounting block, under the human's careful instruction and watchful eye. It struck him once he mounted up just how far away the ground was. Six and a half feet of horse, plus approximately another three or four feet of skeleton put his skull... uncomfortably far from the grass beneath him. The human gently took hold of the bridle, moving Strunmah a few steps forward and away from the block. The movement made Papyrus's soul lurch in his ribcage. Suitably big movements should have come as no surprise from such a giant.

The human offered encouragement, reminding him that this was a gentle horse, and he was safer there than just about anywhere else. She talked him through moving his legs so she could adjust the stirrups for his longer legs, then gave him a gentle reminder of how to stop, go, and steer. She then walked over to Whiskey's run, releasing the mare. While Strunmah had been outfitted with both a saddle and bridle for his rider's comfort, Whiskey was completely untacked. The human kissed to her horse, guiding her up to the mounting block, and climbed on, riding up to Papyrus's left side. It made sense that a horse used in protesting could be steered without the luxury of equipment.

At first, she talked him through the basics while she stood off to the side. He needed frequent reminders to relax; he was afraid, and it showed in his tight grip on the reins and his tendency to keep his weight in the balls of his feet. But after a few times around the smaller pen, he was feeling much better. Strunmah moved carefully, deliberately, taking great pains to help his learning rider feel secure. Half an hour in, the human suggested a jaunt around the property. They would keep it slow, she promised. Papyrus agreed; he'd been wondering how she steered with no bridle.

As they set off into the woods, he found it impossible to determine how she was directing Whiskey. She had a hand gently entangled in the horse's mane, but it seemed more of a security measure than a means of steering. He also wondered how comfortable she was; he was alright in the saddle, but she had naught but the horse and her own flesh to cushion her. Even so, she seemed perfectly content. In fact, he was certain he had never seen her so peaceful. She kept an eye on him, gently correcting his technique and posture at times, but otherwise seemed content to simply exist. After seeing the forest from horseback, he could certainly understand the feeling. He would have to come ride with her again.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was literally just an excuse to write in the horses.  
> Strunmah's name comes from the dragon language in Skyrim. It translates to "mountain".


End file.
